By Eddy Ulerio / Translated by Maria Jacketti

In such fermented memory
we hear the whistle of a train,
an obscured vision
of human beings
inside a giant fish
with all home left behind,
they land at Ellis Island,
uprooted and in pieces,
not understanding the language,
clinging just to their beliefs,
and languages.

They populated the place
with unlikely dreams.
Ethnicity did not matter;
they became slaves in the mines
scorned because of their accents,            ,scorned by the greed of their masters
shoulders doubled over,
but never enough money,
as if abandoned
by the hand of God,
they died, piece by piece, with nothing
to claim as their own.

The earth buried their dreams, with
The crash and torrent of so many souls!
Today, lush currents of water
connect us to those immigrants
of distinct centuries,
and they spring to new life:
the streets fill up with hope,
a past of both song and lamentation
invite us to live as brothers.